Ally Rotter and the Philospher's Phone
by Hobbit-eyes
Summary: Guess what? It's another parody of Harry Potter. But give it a try, it'll make you laugh at least once. Don't judge a fic by its summary. Oh come on, it's funny, I promise! Where are you going? (hears nothing but chirping crickets) Hello?
1. The Girl Who Lived

Yes, it is another parody of Harry Potter, but give it a try. Go on. It's funny, really. It'll only take five minutes or so. Really. You'll laugh at least once. Oh come on, where are you going? (hears nothing but chirping crickets) Hello? Puh, I'll write it anyway.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the films or characters or anything to do with it at all – except the books, which are cool.  
  
ALLY ROTTER AND THE PHILOSPHER'S/SORCERER'S/WIZARD'S/MAGIC PHONE  
  
aka ALLY ROTTER AND THE TITLE THAT GIVES AWAY PRETTY MUCH THE ENTIRE STORY, WHICH IS TERRIBLE ANYWAY AS EVERYONE'S OUT OF CHARACTER, AND THE TITLE IS  
TOO LONG  
  
The Girl who Lived (yes, you read that right, a girl. If you didn't realise this wasn't the original version, you are slightly odd. If you're still reading, you're slightly odd as well.)  
  
The Duglies would have been a normal family, had their task in this book not been showing what a tragic life our heroine did lead. Just because of this fact, they are stuck being the prissy, un-magic family, who are so pompous they deserve Governor Swann's wig, instead of being a possible relation of the heroine or a future Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.  
  
They lived in their pompous house in their pompous street in their pompous town in their pompous county in their not-so-pompous country, as it couldn't be pompous because hello, it had our heroine in it. Not to mention Orlando Bloom. They'd just finished their pompous day, in which we were left in no doubt whatsoever to their pompousness because of Mr Dugly refusal to acknowledge several highly obvious magical facts, such as people Alliterating and Disalliterating every few feet, white rabbits hopping everywhere (followed by a man in black leather and sunglasses) and massive flashing neon signs in the sky reading 'REJOICE, FOR LORD VAL D'IZAIRE, THE HIGHLY EVIL WIZARD, IS DEAD!!!!!!!' No, he didn't even notice the seven exclamation marks. Shocking.  
  
Anyway, after this highly pompous day, they all went to bed, Mr Dugly considering whether or not his company ought to buy more spades. His surname came from his company and his appearance merged. Night settled over street. This made it ever so slightly darker, but no less pompous. Shame. Then suddenly, with a puff of smoke, a slight whiff of feet and a strain of 'La Cucaracha', a man appeared on the corner.  
  
He looked exactly like a child's picture of a wizard, except with slight mistakes; his purple robes were embroidered with peace signs and smily faces instead of stars, his glasses were massive, rainbow framed and pink tinted, and his hat had a parrot perched on top of it. Due to this long description, it is obvious that this is a major recurring character, so I'll tell you that his name was Fungus Crumblebore.  
  
He looked up and down the street, pulled out a shotgun and shot out the lights of the lampposts. Due to a silencing spell he had used, no-one heard anything except twelve loud gunshots. But it was nearly Bonfire Night so no- one cared about bangs after dark, and anyone looking out their windows was far more likely to be worried by a man clicking a cigarette lighter in the middle of the street and causing bits of light to fly to it than of some nutter shooting out lamp bulbs.  
  
He shuffled across the road, which was remarkably empty of joyriding youths (magic at work again) to where a hamburger was sitting on a wall. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McDonalds," he said.  
  
"Wind in the sails," agreed the parrot.  
  
The hamburger suddenly transformed into a middle-aged woman, wearing yellow robes with a large red M on the front of them. She retained the slight odour of grease, but Crumblebore was used to it.  
  
"How did you know it was me?" she said.  
  
"Well-" began Professor Crumblebore.  
  
"Actually, save it," said Professor McDonalds. She was well aware of Professor Crumblebore's love of his own voice. Chances are if she asked him to explain anything, it would wind up being a long-winded description of his holiday in Majorca last year. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"What are you doing here?" replied Professor Crumblebore. Professor McDonalds rolled her eyes. This was his second favourite thing – answering a question with another question.  
  
"Waiting for you."  
  
"Then I'm here to stop you waiting."  
  
"Look, Crumblebore, STOP being philosophical, I've been on this wall all day. I had to bite some chavs who decided that they couldn't be bothered to walk the 500m into town to Burger King."  
  
"Oooh, that's going to have repercussions," said Crumblebore gleefully.  
  
"You don't need to sound so happy about it," snapped Professor McDonalds.  
  
"You always get so grouchy when you're cheese for more than half an hour," said Crumblebore, "I remember the time you-"  
  
"Anyway," said Professor McDonalds hurriedly, "Why ARE you here?"  
  
"I'm here to deliver Ally at her aunt and uncle's," he said, "Why are YOU here?"  
  
"I already told – I heard from Haggle that you were coming," said Professor McDonalds, not attempting to argue.  
  
"Ah, Haggle," said Crumblebore, looking thoughtful, for no apparent reason, or possibly a reason that would be revealed in the sixth or seventh book.  
  
"Is it true that You-Know-Who-Oh-Come-On-Yes-You-DO-Know-Who-I-Told-You- About-Him-Only-Last-Week-You-Know-The-Evil-Guy-Like-Darth-Vader is dead?" "Well, you're really asking two questions there-"  
  
"No I'm not. I'm asking one."  
  
"Well," began Crumblebore, getting into his story-telling tone of voice, "He may be, he may not be, he may be neither, he may be both."  
  
"Uh, Crumblebore – it's not possible to be both dead and alive."  
  
"Yes it is. Magic."  
  
"Ah, yes," nodded Professor McDonalds nervously, "Right. Magic. But what actually happened?"  
  
"The question is not 'what', it is 'when'. 'When' actually happened?"  
  
"That doesn't even make grammatical sense," protested Professor McDonalds.  
  
"Yes it does," glared Crumblebore, "Trust me, I'm a wizard. Anyway, when it actually happened was yesterday evening. Lord Val d'Isere went and killed Jams and Lil' Kim Rotter."  
  
"Jams and Lil' Kim?" said Professor McDonalds in shock, "But – why?"  
  
"They bugged him, I guess. Anyway, that's not the main part of plot."  
  
"It's not?"  
  
"No. Check the title."  
  
Professor McDonalds glanced at the cover of the book. "Ah – so what happened to Ally?"  
  
"Well, this is the amazing point that will produce many more books in this series – she didn't die."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The question is not 'what', it is 'where'."  
  
"No, it's actually 'what'. Oh wait, it should have been 'why', really, shouldn't it?"  
  
"Yes. And the answer is, we don't know. Or rather I do know, but that's more of a fifth book revelation."  
  
"Ah. Right."  
  
Suddenly the sound of ringing filled the air. Descending from the sky and landing on the street, with a rather loud THUMP waking up everyone within a five-mile radius, who promptly rolled over thinking "Damn teenagers," and immediately fell back into a younger-generation-hating slumber, came a massive bicycle with a large man astride it. Actually, the bicycle could not really qualify as a bicycle, it was more of a trike – considering the neon pink framework, white wicker basket with plastic flowers on it, cheery bell and a reflector shaped like Tinkerbell. Sitting on it was a man, wearing a suit that was twice as garish and bright as any suit has the right to be. This man had the appearance of being tall, but that was just the charisma coming off him in waves. He had a slight hint of orange in his features.  
  
"There you are, Haggle," said Professor McDonalds.  
  
"Dead man tell no tales," agreed the parrot.  
  
"Why is that parrot always threatening me?" said Haggle, eyeing the parrot nervously.  
  
"The question is not 'why', it is 'when'?" mused Crumblebore.  
  
"Well, I know the answer to that," said Haggle.  
  
"Ah, but what is it?" said Crumblebore.  
  
"... All the time," said Haggle.  
  
"A-HA," said Crumblebore triumphantly, nodding to himself. McDonalds and Haggle glanced at each other uneasily.  
  
"Anyway..." began Professor McDonalds after an awkward silence.  
  
"Did you get what I asked for?" interrupted Professor Crumblebore, apparently unaware that it had been him who had caused the awkward silence in the first place.  
  
"Grande double-mocha frappacino with extra cinnamon, right?" said Haggle, holding out a Starbucks bag.  
  
"Verily, forsooth," said Professor Crumblebore, accepting the bag, "But also, the infant?"  
  
"Uhh... maybe," said Haggle, "Thought I heard something fall out of the basket around Manchester, but that might have just been my sandwiches." Turning his immense back on them, he turned to rifling through the bicycle basket. As he searched, he threw out a bright pink knee-length boot, a goldfish in a plastic bag, a live peacock, several water pistols and a Terry's chocolate orange, before pulling out triumphantly a little baby wrapped in a Mickey Mouse washcloth.  
  
"Disney," said Crumblebore, looking thoughtful again, "Hmmm..."  
  
"Aaaah," said Professor McDonalds, maternal instinct taking over, "He's so adorable, coochy-coochy-coo!"  
  
"It's a girl, Professor," said Haggle slightly nervously.  
  
Professor McDonalds shot him a look, which hit Haggle's forehead and made him wince. "I knew that," she said sharply. She brushed the small little tuft of hair off her forehead and blinked. "Crumblebore, can't you do anything about this scar?"  
  
"Oh, no, no, no," said Crumblebore, shaking his head so that his Peace sign earrings hit the sides of his face, "Scars can be damn useful plot devices. Also give you the sort of dashing, warrior look, don't you think?"  
  
"Well, normal scars may do that," persisted Professor McDonalds, "But this one is bright purple and in the shape of a treble clef."  
  
"Really?" said Crumblebore, nodding his head, "Hmmm." He didn't look particularly concerned, however, and shortly afterwards pulled out his mobile and started playing Snake.  
  
"Hadn't we better, uh, put Ally on the doorstep?" said Haggle, still holding the baby. Crumblebore nodded distractedly, his thumb moving like lightning over the keys of his phone.  
  
"Oh, but these people are terrible!" said Professor McDonalds, "Couldn't we keep it? Pleeease?"  
  
Crumblebore looked up gravely. "Alas," he said. "Alack." He then turned his eyes back to the screen and said nothing more on the matter. Professor McDonalds sniffed with annoyance, and carried Ally over to the doorstep, laying her down gently in the hope of not waking her up. No such luck – as soon as Ally perceived that she was no longer being held, she opened her eyes and started shrieking at the top of her lungs.  
  
"Aw bugger," said Professor McDonalds, "Professor, what should we do?-" She turned to see Crumblebore trotting away along the road as fast as his short little legs could carry him, and Haggle trying, unsuccessfully, to hide behind a tree. As lights turned on inside the house, Professor McDonalds glanced behind her fearfully, and then also raced away down the road, covering her hands with her ears to keep out the infant's wails. "My goodness," she thought to herself, "She has only been in the plot for a page or so, and yet she is already bugging people beyond their minds can imagine."  
  
Ally herself was still screaming at the top of her voice, not knowing that she was special, not knowing that she was now the character of a seven-part book series, not knowing that she had a stupid treble clef on her forehead, not knowing that the rest of her life was going to be one long angst-fest, and not knowing what the hell E=mc2 meant, but then hardly anyone knows that, so how she was expected to when she was only a baby, I don't know. Magic, I guess. 


	2. The Inconsequential Vanishing Glass

Hi! Thanks everyone who reviewed, I had a way bigger response than I imagined – I basically only started writing this to appease one of my friends who is a Harry Potter fanatic. And now wish I hadn't, because she threatens me with mini-Justin Timberlakes. Anyway, as I'm trying to follow the chapters in the book, this chapter's shorter than the last one, but the next one should be longer – hopefully. When I get round to writing it, that is. Which should be soon. OK, brain, shut up with the author's note, get on with the chapter...  
  
The Inconsequential Vanishing Glass  
  
Nearly ten years later, the sun rose over Privy Drive. Birds tweeted, bees buzzed, and the ferrets owned by the odd couple down the road were playing poker. Many found this odd – usually blackjack was their favoured game. Ally woke up from an incredibly backstory-laden dream. Of course, she didn't know it was backstory-laden. Yet. So for now, the phrase 'ignorance is bliss' applied – though that was often the case for Ally. She-  
  
"ALLY! Get up!"  
  
The narration was rudely interrupted by Ally's aunt Petulant. Ally sighed and got out of her box full of hay kept in the linen closet, next to the hot water tank. Leg cramp was the price of appearing the tragically ill- treated heroine. She got dressed, glanced in the mirror at her purple treble-clef shaped scar, again wondered how on earth a car accident would be so neat and produce a purple scar, and then clambered out of the closet, remembering to turn off the hot water as she left. Childish, yes, but still satisfying.  
  
She went downstairs, where the massive decorations for Milkdud's birthday were up. Ally sighed. Milkdud was getting lots of presents, as per usual. Ally never got presents any better than a book token. She sighed, then gestured for the quartet of violinists that had appeared at her side playing a sad mournful tune to keep quiet for now. Plenty of angst to come later. The violinists nodded and wandered away playing the William Tell overture.  
  
"Clean the table!" ordered Aunt Petulant.  
  
"Cook the bacon!" ordered her Uncle Vermin.  
  
"Sweep the floors!"  
  
"Clean the windows!"  
  
"Feed the rabbit!"  
  
"Translate the new Testament into Latin!"  
  
"Yes," sighed Ally. She was just taking out the Mr Muscle and trying to figure out the Latin for 'begot', when Milkdud thundered into the room. Metaphorically and literally – Milkdud was so obviously not a good guy that as he entered, there was a crash of thunder even though outside the sky was a perfect cloudy grey (English people learn to tell the difference between clouds over time).  
  
Milkdud was immediately fussed over and given many presents, showing how spoilt and hateful he was. Ally sighed. This was a bad morning. Normally there were only two sighs by this point. Milkdud was a boy Ally's age, and was basically the symbolism of modern youth. He wore sports clothing but didn't do sports, he wore anti-society badges but did nothing about it, and possibly worst of all, he listened to Justin Timberlake. Yup. This was a bad guy. Except, unlike most modern youths, he was going to the zoo for his birthday. Most peculiar, thought Ally, then sighed.  
  
Milkdud opened his presents, which included symbols of commercialism and of the greed of modern society. Ally sighed. Suddenly the phone rang, and Aunt Petulant got up to answer it. Just as Milkdud opened his certificate showing that he had ownership of an orphanage, and was exclaiming how perfectly this would go with his new wrecking ball and explosions team, Aunt Petulant returned.  
  
"Miss Piggy is getting her hair dyed blonde again," she said petulantly, "She can't take Ally."  
  
Uncle Vermin and Milkdud looked equally furious, but Ally's heart leapt. There was more chance for a plot development if she left the house. There was much angry debate about how to feasibly keep her at home, most of which were very good ideas, but somehow Ally ended up on the way to zoo with them. Magic?  
  
They got to 'Plot Development Zoo' (thus named because it was first established when an old woman bought a vegetable plot and charged people to come and see her two-headed rabbit born with only one head, and developed the idea of seeing animals not in their natural habitat and sleeping three times as much as ordinary animals. What, did you think it was some kind of foreshadowing?) and went round, looked at animals et cetera ad nauseam. Ally followed at a distance and sighed.  
  
Eventually they went to the bird house, where the others drew ahead. Ally paused to look at a parrot and sighed. "I'm so tragic," she sighed.  
  
"Bwawk," squawked the parrot.  
  
Ally gasped. "You can talk?"  
  
"Bwawk," affirmed the parrot. Ally gasped.  
  
"You can understand me?"  
  
"Bwawk," confirmed the parrot, 'Polly want a cracker.'  
  
"I know, it must be terrible living in a zoo," sympathized Ally, "With everyone looking at you, and never getting any rest-"  
  
"Bwawk."  
  
"Don't interrupt me!" snapped Ally.  
  
"Bwawk," said the parrot sarkily.  
  
"Ohh, you wanna say that to my face?" said Ally, "I'm a heroine, I'll have you remember, I can suddenly learn amazing talents at the drop of a hat!"  
  
"Bwawk," taunted the parrot. Suddenly, Milkdud came running over, the momentum of his bodily fat making him look like a spinning top, for some strange reason fascinated by the parrot squawking at his cousin. He brushed her out of the way and she immediately fell to the ground. She turned at glared at Milkdud, in the way that only girls can, the way that could make the Ringwraiths stop and run – which is why they should have made the Ringbearer a girl, in my opinion...  
  
Where was I?  
  
Oh right, Ally was glaring. And SUDDENLY! the glass in front of the parrot cage VANISHED! Wow, bet you weren't expecting that, were you? Well, the glass vanished, and the parrot flew out and flapped around the bird house, squawking and so on. "Eeek, parrot!" people cried. "It's loose!" "Oh, for more medical insurance!" "Woe, woe, woe!" "Wait – that's just a parrot right?" "Ware! Ware!" "Hey mummy, look at this budgie it looks just like ours!" "Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake!" It then flew out the door to freedom and eventual recapturing or squashing by car on the M1.  
  
"Wow," said a guard coming in, "Lucky that the glass didn't just miraculously vanish in the snake house, huh? Now THAT could have been dangerous."  
  
Ally sighed. It most certainly would have been. Drat. Then maybe she could have been locked into the guinea-pig hutch or something, even though it evidently wasn't her fault, because if she had the power to make glass disappear then why didn't she make Milkdud just disappear? Eh? Do you ever think of that? Eh? EH? I don't know. Some people.  
  
***  
  
For those of you who haven't read any of my other stories (don't worry, neither have I), welcome to the Hobbit-eyes tradition of callouts. Be afraid.  
  
LadySmith – Thanks very much! I could hardly get very far without at least one reference... but I don't believe there are any in this chapter. Can it be? (gasp) Could she get through ANOTHER chapter without a LOTR/Matrix/POTC/Star Wars reference? Who knows? Seriously, who? I want to know...  
  
Theshiz – Thanks! The treble clef has a purpose, really. It will become apparent later on. And anyway, what's wrong with treble clefs? They're nice and swirly and mean I don't have to bother moving the notes down two tones to play them on the violin! (mutters angrily about bass clefs)  
  
Pixael28 – Officially your hero? Officially? As in I get a certificate? COOL!  
  
Im a Brandybuck – Oooh, Harry's a RINGWRAITH! Bet none of the HP fans saw that coming! Or maybe... (gasp) Maybe if Frodo hadn't got to Rivendell in time, he would have turned into Harry Potter! Argh, no wonder Arwen and Glorfindel were riding so fast!  
  
Woundup Orange – Not just one, I believe I have enough craziness for at least two, maybe three people. So that means there could be two extremely dull people out there because I took their share of craziness.  
  
Don't-give-me-a-pen – No other Harry Potter stuff, but some LOTR, POTC and Matrix parodies and fanfics, and also there's a couple of Star Wars ones on the way.  
  
KnowInSight – Well, that's good to know. It wasn't false advertising! Yay!  
  
Ergo-Visavis – Hahahahaha... man in a red hat.... hahahaha...  
  
CatClawz – Well, there were a lot of details in the first chapter of HP as well, so it kind of fits. But not quite so many details in this chapter.  
  
Hogwarts-Drama-Queen – I have nothing against HP or any of the other characters. I actually quite like the books. This is just gentle teasing because I like it – and because I've been threatened with mini-Justins. But I'd just blow it off as my general craziness, if I were you.  
  
Alteng – Well, they ARE pompous! And yes, the parrot is smuggled from POTC, I had to have at least a couple of references to my favourite films in here...  
  
Harrypottergirl – Writer's block is a curse! Not even a nice curse, which I can phone up Johnny Depp to save me from and sacrifice Will Turner along the way! It's a meanie of a curse! A CURSE, DADGUMMIT!  
  
Jack – Thanks! Sorry there's a bit of a gap between chapters, but I have to actually write each new one, and they take some thinking about... I have way too much free time.  
  
See y'all soon! 


	3. The Letters from No one

Wow, I haven't updated this since APRIL. No wonder my friend's been pestering me about it for ages. Sorry. Oh well. Next chapter.

**Chapter 3 - The Letters from No-one **

**(Well, evidently they're from SOMEONE, because otherwise who would have wrote them? We just don't know WHO they're from yet. Unless of course the person they're from is actually called No-one, in which case they _would_ be from No-one, but you have to find that out. I, of course, know already. But not telling. No, I'm not. No, take that briefcase of muffins away. I'm not telling! NOT!)**

Over the next few months, many things happened, but none of them were plot developments, so they are not described. By the summer, Ally was slowly sinking into despair, and trekking the streets in the hope for a plot development. There was, however, no sign of one. Alas. Poor Ally. She sighed.

But at the end of the summer, she would be joining the local grammar school. Maybe, just maybe, there would be some kid there who knew something about her past. Or some teacher who had magical powers. There were several chances for plot developments there. But until then, the whole boring summer holidays. Days stretching ahead, where she could only wander in the sunshine, stay at home all day, or possibly go and pelt the ducks in the pond with bread. Gee. Don't you feel sorry for her? Don't worry if you don't, she's feeling sorry enough for herself to cover the both of you.

But one day, when Ally was only on her third sigh of the morning, they got letters. Amazingly, this isn't the exciting bit (although, I personally find the postal service amazing. You just put the letter in the red postbox, and then a few days later, bing! It's where you wanted it to go! Magic!) Ally got to her feet sighing and went to get the post. There was the usual multitude of advertisements, the usual multitude of bills, the usual multitude of catalogues, and – a letter for Ally.

Ally gasped. She didn't even know letters were used any more. She thought the post box was just a transmitting system, through which the government dispensed bills and for the rest of the time there was the commercial break. But no, here it was, a large red 'H' on the doormat.

She just stood there, gazing at the H in awe, as more bills etc fell from the too-high post box onto her head. It was only when the hardback catalogue from Next fell through the flap and hit her hard on the head that she came back to reality. "Ow," she said pensively, and then, after a moment, added, "Ow."

She looked at the 'H' with proper examining rather than just gazing in awe. It seemed to be made of some light metal, and glowed slightly. It was addressed to: 'Ally Heroine Rotter, The reasonably small linen, towel, flannel and bathmat closet opposite the toilet that gurgles all night, top of the stairs and turn right, 9 Pompous Street, Pompous Town, Pompous County, England, United Kingdom, Europe, Northern Hemisphere, Earth, Solar System, Milky Way, the Local Group, Universe #279, Third Dimension.'

"Maybe they delivered it to the wrong place," thought Ally. Turning it over, she saw that there was a small door in the back, sealed by a blu-tak seal which, just before Ally peeled off the blu-tak and added it to the massive ball in her pocket, she saw was imprinted with a large letter 'H' surrounded by a hamster, a guinea-pig, a rabbit and a capybara. 'Twas a pity that she added it to the ball in her pocket so thoughtlessly, because the inscription on the capybara in particular was particularly intricate, oh yes, simply lovely.

"Ally!" thundered Uncle Vermin (KERRACKABOOM thundered the clouds outside, obviously put out at having a rival in ominousity) "Bring in the post! Then vacuum the living room!" Ally sighed. "And recite pi up to 100 places!" he added for good measure.

"3.141592654..." began Ally, sighing, and headed back into the kitchen, still holding the letter H. As she entered, all of the family looked up.

"Ally has a letter!" said Milkdud, aka Captain Obvious.

"She does indeed!" said Aunt Petulant, "A letter H!"

"I know, there's hope for the Royal Mail network yet-" began Ally.

"Wait!" said Uncle Vermin, staring at the letter, "That's not just a letter – that's A Letter™!"

Dun-dun-DUN! played Ally's personal violin quartet.

"Not – A Letter™!" said Aunt Petulant in shock, "But they come with plot developments!"

"I want a plot development!" cried Milkdud. Sadly, it was in vain – he wouldn't have any change in character for the rest of the series. Well, actually, I don't know that, since I haven't read beyond the fifth book. But to the best of my knowledge, anyway.

"A – a plot development?" gasped Ally, staring at the large red H in her hands in amazement, "What sort of plot development-"

Before she could open it, Uncle Vermin grabbed it from her hands. He jumped up and down on it, set it alight, dumped it in the liquidizer and left it on there at full power for several minutes, attached it to a rocket and sent it blasting out of the window, where it exploded in bright golden sparks. He returned to the kitchen table, whistling slightly. He then noticed the entire family staring at him. "Oh, it was nothing important," he said.

Ally was watching at the sparks drifting down from the sky and setting alight to her neighbour's hedge. "That was MY H," she said sadly.

"Was it really? Had no idea," said Uncle Vermin, looking up at the ceiling innocently.

"You evidently DID," said Ally, tearing her eyes away from the window, where her neighbour was rushing out of the kitchen, shrieking and throwing buckets of water on the burning hedge. "I mean, you stamped on it, liquidized it-"

"No I didn't," said Uncle Vermin quickly.

"Yes you did!"

"You must be mistaken," said Uncle Vermin again, raising his voice against the neighbour's increasing shrieks as the inferno that was her hedge spread to her house, "Now go to your room."

Ally stomped upstairs, clambered into the linen closet and hurled herself onto her hay box, wearing a pre-teenage 'nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll just go and eat worms' pout. As the fire engines came wailing down the street, and the smoke from the neighbour's house rose into the sky, and the sound of the neighbour crying, "No! My player piano!" accompanied by the discordant tune of 'Bad Bad Lee Roy Brown' came drifting through her window, she thought things were certainly changing. Almost as though... it was a plot development.

xxx

The next day, more letters arrived. This time, there wasn't only an H, but also an O and a G. Ally discovered them waiting on the doormat when she came downstairs, playing dominoes to pass the time. The thought came to her that maybe they were spelling something. "Uncle Vermin, what's a 'Gho'?" she called.

"How do you spell it?"

Ally glanced back at the letters. "G-O-H or G-H-O, it doesn't really matter. Alternatively, what's a 'Hgo'? Or an 'Ogh'?"

This, of course, led to the discovery of the new letters. This, in turn, led to Uncle Vermin trying to flush them down the toilet. This, in turn, led to the toilet getting clogged. But that's another story. ('Percy the Plumber and the Chamberpot of Secrets'! Coming soon to whatever bookshops I can sneak it into!) That afternoon, Uncle Vermin set up a 24-hour surveillance team around the letterbox, guards with dogs patrolling the doormat, and sent several letters to the post office telling them not to deliver any more letters.

"I still don't see what's so important," said Ally as Aunt Petulant phoned the Post Office, clarifying just what kind of letters Uncle Vermin meant.

"Eh? Oh, it's not important," said Uncle Vermin, "Not at all important."

"Uncle, you were considering phoning International Rescue."

"Not important. Uh. Go away."

But all this couldn't stop the letters from reaching Ally. The following morning, Ally was woken by letters being hurled through her window. (Yes, her linen closet has a window. This story is about MAGIC, for muffin's sake. You really care about a closet having a _window_?) She quickly scrambled out of her hay box to look at them. They spelt 'H-O-G-M-A-N-A-Y-S-C-H-O-O-L-O-F-W-I-T-C-H-C-R-A-F-T-A-N-D-W-I-Z-A-R-D-R-Y.'

"What's 'Hogman Ayscho Olo Fwitchcr Aftan Dwizar Dry?'" thought Ally, "It sounds Swedish..."

Suddenly Uncle Vermin pulled open her linen closet door. "Did you just get more letters?" he demanded.

"Ummmmmmmmmm," said Ally, "No."

"What are they, then?"

Ally glanced down at the heap of letters next to her. "They're, uh, bonsai trees."

For some strange reason, Uncle Vermin didn't believe her. "Give!" he ordered.

Ally reluctantly handed them all over. Uncle Vermin only just managed to carry them all, eventually managing it by wearing the 'O's stacked on his head like a hat and shoving both the 'I's in his dressing gown pockets. "Hey," said Ally, "While you're here, could you change the hay in my box-"

He slammed the door in her face. "Ow."

xxx

It seemed that no matter what Uncle Vermin did, letters were still arriving for Ally. They were found in the dog kennel, in her hay box – even on the special post table in the hall, which no-one ever used. And even more were arriving. The last batch, just before Uncle Vermin detonated them with a home-made hand grenade, seemed to spell 'H-O-G-M-A-N-A-Y-S-P-A-C-E-I-S-S-P-A-C-E-A-S-P-A-C-E-S-C-H-O-O-L-S-P-A-C-E-F-O-R-S-P-A-C-E-W-I-T-C-H-E-S-!-Y-O-U-S-P-A-C-E-M-O-R-O-N-!-!-!' Though Ally had no idea what 'Hogma nayspa ceiss paceas pac escho olspa cefors pacew itches! Yo uspacem oron!!!' meant. It sounded more Spanish than Swedish now.

"That's it," said Uncle Vermin angrily – the last delivery had been from down the plughole, and a Y had hit him square on the nose – "We're going away! I'm not having a plot development in my house, we're not insured!"

"Where are we going to go?" ventured Aunt Petulant as Uncle Vermin ushered them out of the house into the car, in such a hurry that he even forgot to cancel the milk. Ally wasn't looking forward to seeing the lactose-feeding bacteria colony that would have settled in when they returned.

"The Pizza Hut on the Rock," said Uncle Vermin.

"The Pizza Hut on the Rock?" echoed Milkdud, "But Padre, that entvo is so not booshka right now, kapish?"

"Are you trying to use slang, or Spanish?" asked Ally.

Despite all of Milkdud's protests, Uncle Vermin drove at breakneck speed along the motorway until they finally arrived at the Pizza Hut on the Rock – a small Pizza Hut that had been built on top of a small pillar of stone jutting out of the landscape. Apparently, it was the only available to place to build one in that area, and even for that spot there had been competition from Starbucks.

Climbing up the precarious spiral staircase up to the top of the rock, they finally all entered the warm reassuring glow that only comes from a fast food restaurant. It being eleven am on a Wednesday morning, and since the restaurant wasn't even supposed to be open yet, they were seated quickly yet confusedly by the staff.

For the rest of the day, they sat there in the booth, ordering the occasional pizza. Pizza Hut staff, being reliable, courteous and helpful, didn't point out how unhealthy it was to only eat pizza, nor ask them to leave; they just whispered about them behind their backs, shrugged, and gave them a free Pepsi refill.

By around eleven pm, however, eyebrows were disappearing beneath fringes. But the Pizza Hut staff, not quite so reliable, courteous or helpful since they wanted to go home, dared not approach Uncle Vermin with the bill; his own eyebrows seemed threatening. Also, Milkdud was eating enough ice-cream to give them all very large Christmas bonuses. They gave up in the end and locked them in, warning them that they'd counted all the pizzas – however, Milkdud was welcome to the ones under the sink. "They're only marked with 'Extremely out of date, possibly harmful' to scare off mice," assured the manager, as the grumbling scaff set off down the spiral staircase.

Uncle Vermin, Aunt Petulant and Milkdud settled down to sleep in the booths, instructing Ally to sleep on the floor. "But there's still another booth over there-" said Ally confusedly, but was answered by a loud snore from Uncle Vermin.

Ally sighed and lay down on the floor. Outside the window, she could stars twinkling, which was a miracle in itself due to light pollution in that area. She saw a shooting star, then the star that it hit falling out of the sky. "That's two wishes," she thought, "So I guess I wish that some celebrity - not too big, but bigger than David Dickinson – could come and take me away... and for a Dairy Milk."

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

xxx

Ergo-Visavis – Well, it wasn't necessarily bad to me, but it made my musical friend hyperventilate. So to a musical person it would be. I guess.

Im a Brandybuck – (hangs head) I have a problem with LOTR references. In that I use too many of them. That was kinda obvious, wasn't it? Yes it was. Oh dear.

Theshiz – There's nothing wrong with being a tea druggie. My friend is a tea druggie. But then, there's definitely something wrong with her...

Alteng – Frodo turning into Harry Potter... well, for most of the film, the transformations nearly complete anyway...

Pixael28 – Parrots are nice! Paperclips are... unobtrusive.

Bev Baudelaire – (bows) Thank you, thank you. I'm here till Tuesday. And afterwards. Since I have no social life.

Bulma Greenleaf – How do you suffer Wob-Wobs? Unless they eat your sofa? Then you're not suffering THEM, you're suffering BECAUSE of them, due to lack of comfy places to sit. Ha HA.

Littlefurryscrubcreature – Ya hear that, Johnny Depp? HAIL MEEE!!

Black-dranzer-of-evil-Kai – (gasp) No muffins??? We English CAN be evil!

A Psychopathic Moron that comes from a Galaxy far far away – (watches you rolling across the garden) Right... Hi! (waves maniacally)

Rosalinde – Maybe because that would make Ally seem evil. And couldn't have that. No, not at all.

Freakanature – Thanks!

ArwenTurner – Thanks! Mirth and suchlike are always good.

Mustang Gal – Well, it's true. They can multi-task. So Frodo could have concentrated on his quest AND not been tempted by the Ring.

Hopefully a smaller gap between updates next time. Bye!


End file.
